


Sea Legs

by GVSpurlock



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Intermittently creepy, Romance, off-screen sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GVSpurlock/pseuds/GVSpurlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milah leaves the Forest, visits a witch, and finds her sea legs. Also, mermaids are real. How about that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Legs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rodlox](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rodlox).



> Happy holidays, [Rodlox](http://rodlox.livejournal.com)! I loved your prompts and world-building as a desired trope-- you really inspired me! This has an edge of horror, which I did not expect, and also a fair bit of angst (especially at the beginning), which I think is inevitable when it comes to Milah. I cannot imagine she was unaffected by leaving Rumpel & Bae and this picks up almost immediately after the events of "The Crocodile." References and inspiration include: _Harry Potter_ , _Phantom of the Opera_ , _The Ring_ (sorry), and _Lord of the Rings_ (so many rings). Hope you enjoy!

Rumpelstiltskin _left_. Her husband, her oath-sworn partner, the father of her son… he let Killian keep her. He would not fight, he would not rage, nor would he set her free. So she stole her freedom and now she would have to rebuild her happiness. She would reassemble the heart that had shattered under the weight of his family legacy, of the cowardice that was his birthright. If the memory of their love and their beloved son could not keep them together, then best they make a clean break of it before that memory soured and disappeared altogether. It was for the best — logically, she knew that. She knew that she, Baelfire, and Rumpel had their best chance at happiness apart. But oh, how she ached with the desire to hold Bae in her arms once more. To tell him that she loved him still, always, forever.

“Milah, dearest.” Killian ducked into her cabin, looking beautiful and dashing as ever. He sat on the bed, tucking the hair out of her face. 

“Oh, God, Killian,” she hiccoughed, sobs escaping. “I’m so relieved. I’m so glad to be here. I truly am. But I miss him! Oh, my boy! My Bae!”

He held and rocked her as she cried, clutching at his thighs, his hands, his neck, desperately hanging on to whatever bit was nearest. When she’d cried herself out, feeling parched and empty, she was curled into his lap. He never tried to quiet her or leave to deal with pirate captain problems. There was no impatience to him or his gentle stroking of her hair and back. He didn’t tell her it would be okay or that it would hurt less soon and she loved him for not feeding her platitudes. 

“D’you think you’d be up for dinner?” he asked when she’d finally stopped sobbing, still holding her close.

She looked up at his handsome face and tried on a smile. “I’ll try not to cry into the bouillabaisse.” 

Killian kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, chastely. “See that you don’t. It’s quite salty enough already.”

Rubbing the tears off her face with her handkerchief, she looked down at her homely, hand-spun dress, every inch of it Rumpelstiltskin’s work. “Do you have something else I can wear?” she asked, suddenly wanting to be wearing something, _anything_ else. 

“Do I? Oh, love, do I ever,” Killian said, a gleam in his eye.

‘Something else’ turned out to be more leather than she’d ever worn in her life, with a laced-up blouse and tall boots that made her feel powerful. Combing her hair with the lovely silver implement left on her vanity, Milah gazed at herself in the mirror. She felt like a different person inside, but the warped glass showed her the same reflection she’d seen in ponds and windows and Rumpelstitlskin’s eyes for the last twenty-five years. Braiding her hair quickly and shoving back from the vanity, she lifted her chin. These were her people now, her pirates. Killian was hers and she was Killian’s and together they would find adventure and their happy ending.

***

Her pirates, her people, her captain, her boat — they were lovely, all of them, but for all her adventurous spirit, Milah had never been at sea before and her stomach rebelled almost constantly. After dinner one night, she retired to her cabin feeling as empty as she had that first night, but for an entirely different reason. It was difficult to mourn the passing of an old life when you were “tossing your cookies,” as Smee called it once, every hour on the hour. Killian had a bit of a queasy stomach himself and found it difficult to be near her when she was paying her dues to the goddess below. Smee was the good sort, offering her crackers and fresh water to settle her down, while Killian made himself quite scarce. She couldn’t help but feel slightly put out at his absence, though she knew him heaving his guts out beside her wouldn’t help anything.

A light knocking at her cabin door roused her from her misery and she re-tied her dressing gown more tightly round her waist. 

“Milah?” called Killian.

“Come in.”

He opened the door and favored her with one of his most rakish grins. “We’re docking tomorrow,” he informed her.

 _Land._ Oh thank God. She shouldn’t be so relieved — a pirate should enjoy the open water. It was part of the appeal, after all, but a reprieve from the constant sickness sounded absolutely brilliant. 

“There’s a doctor, well, a witch-doctor, well, a witch, really, on this island. She’s very powerful and I think she might be able to help you with your little predicament. And then, when you’re feeling better, we’re going to go somewhere no one’s ever been before.”

“And where’s that?” asked Milah.

His grin set her on fire. “You’ll see.”

***

The docking simultaneously exemplified the perfect teamwork of a devoted crew and the perfect chaos of the elements. The shoals were treacherous, the beating heart of the sea goddess thrumming in the air.

“Hurry, lads!” shouted Killian, frantically spinning the wheel, trying to keep them on track. The promised storm hovered in the gulf, spinning in place, giving them enough time to maneuver the Jolly Roger into the harbor without scuttling the ship.

Milah collapsed into a heap on the dock, preparing to kiss the very ground, but there were barnacles and seaweed everywhere. She thought better of the notion and kissed Killian instead. “That was amazing, dearest. You are a god among captains. A prince of pirates.”

He laughed, spun her around, and presented her very grandly to the dockmaster, who took one look at the brig, their flag, and their gold, and bowed extravagantly. A prince indeed.

The boarding house perched at the top of a little hill, silhouetted against the darkening sky. Gaily painted shutters smacked against the exterior, stirring up quite a racket. Milah suspected this was a sight more elegant than his usual lodgings, if the raucous shouts of the crew heading for the red light district were any indication. Smee went with them to make sure they didn’t engage in any unsanctioned illegalities and left Killian and Milah on their own for the first time since they left the Forest. 

The innkeeper was less obsequious than the dockmaster, but he showed them to their room graciously enough. A white canopied bed, draped with gauzy linens and plump with pillows occupied most of the room. A boy brought up their shared trunk, smiling cheekily at the pair.

Killian flipped him an overly large tip and ruffled his mass of dark blonde curls. Milah’s heart contracted for a long moment, seeing the boy Bae would someday be, the boy she would never see. The boy bolted on skinny legs, flashing a worldly smile that didn’t belong on his face.

“When will we meet your witch?” she asked, distracting herself from her thoughts.

“On the morrow. She’s a very busy woman and she hasn’t got all day, but we’ll visit her after breakfast for your cure. She specializes in legs, y’know.”

“Legs?”

“Aye, lass, sea-legs. We’ll make a sailor out of you yet. You’ll see.” He tweaked her nose.

Milah crawled into the bed, letting herself sink into the mass of pillows. Killian went to close the noisy shutters, but stopped, silhouetted in the fury of the storm. Heavy, grey clouds roiled, but the sunset was so brilliant that the island wasn’t yet shrouded in darkness. The blood orange light was rich, throwing the clouds and the palm trees and the sand into relief. His handsome profile against the light made her long for a sketchbook, to steal the moment and tuck it away for a sadder day, but then he turned from the tableau and looked at her. 

Their connection had always been something unique and exciting, something beyond the tender love she’d shared with Rumpelstiltskin before he’d lost himself in fear. Killian was chaos and fire and freedom and laughter and joy and being near him was worth every regret she would harbor for leaving her life behind. And when he looked at her like that, the heaviness in her heart evaporated and she forgot everything but the adoration in his eyes.

He left the shutters open, better to hear the glorious rain that began coming down in sheets. When he stalked toward her where she lay in a mound of soft pillows, her heart pounded in her chest.

***

The morning dawned apologetically lovely and bright, replacing the cool sea breeze that had taken up residence during the night. Milah and Killian woke wrapped up in each other and the sheets. She kissed him awake, then senseless, and stared at him fondly. His hair was completely ridiculous, some of it standing straight on end, some of it flattened against his skull, and even his eyebrows were a little disheveled.

“You are, by far, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she informed him.

“That’s my line, love,” he murmured, kissing her fingertips.

“Well. It’s mine now.” She kissed him soundly.

They couldn’t get too carried away, beholden as they were to the whims of the witch who would grant her serenity on the seas. The fruits of the island made for a lush breakfast and the air was cooler, if damp, after the furious storm. Killian fed her slices of mango and stole sips of her coffee, despite teasing her for the heaping spoonful of sugar dumped in it. 

The witch made her home on the far side of the island, which wasn’t saying much - it was a tiny island. The span could be crossed in less than a half hour, but they took their time, admiring the increasingly thick jungle flora. The path was well-trod and Killian never needed to extract his sabre to cut their way through, but Milah felt uneasy nonetheless.

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Vanessa and she is very lovely and very wise and could likely kill us both… and the whole island, if she so wished, with a thought.”

“Surely there will be no killing today,” she paused a moment, “Or will there?”

Killian chuckled. “Well, she hasn’t wiped out the island yet and still do the inhabitants of this island come to her. It seems unlikely she dabbles in human sacrifice.”

Milah licked her lips. “I feel strange.”

“Of course you do. You’re not a fool. This is her domain and it’s thick with her magic, that tingling, just there, like all the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end. It’s her protection, her power. A woman alone, you know.”

“You don’t seem bothered by it.”

“Why should I? We come in peace, with payment, and without ulterior motive. I have nothing to fear.”

She rubbed the back of her neck and wished she could feel so nonchalant in the face of magic. But magic was so often the preserve of the corrupt. That saying about power— it took a stern soul to resist and a sterner one still to pay up when the price came due. There were murmurs of faeries, of kind, benevolent winged folk who righted injustices and rewarded the brave. But those were just murmurs. The magical folk in the Forest were human, earthbound, and capable of extraordinary greed.

The little house was genteel and well-kept, with a neat yard that played host to a hammock, clothesline, and abundant garden. The door was open, inviting, and the witch was nowhere to be found.

“Vanessa?” Hook called. 

You don’t enter a witch’s domain without permission.

A tall, slender brunette with enormous brown eyes and extravagant eyelashes materialized at the edge of the forest. She glided toward them, so graceful that Milah couldn’t tell if she was actually taking steps or just floating slightly above the ground. Her feet were invisible under her pale blue dress.

“Killian Jones. It has been a long time, young man. How have you been keeping?” Her speaking voice was incredibly musical.

Killian bowed at the waist. “It is a pleasure to see you again, milady. I have been keeping well.” He gestured to Milah and grasped her hand. “I’ve been so lucky as to ensnare the great love of my life, here. May I introduce Miss Milah?”

Those ageless brown eyes flicked to her, assessing, thoughtful, invasive. It felt like the witch could see right through her, ruffle through her thoughts, and see her faithlessness, unkindness, her every fault and flaw. Feeling exposed by that penetrating stare, she shuffled involuntarily toward Killian.

A small, neutral smile appeared on the witch’s face. Milah supposed she had passed whatever test the witch was administering. 

“Welcome to Antillia, Milah. May your heart rest easily here.” The other woman kissed her forehead, a benediction that left her feeling lighter than air. The pressure of the magic faded, that unearthly sensation that sent her neck to prickling— gone. Milah found herself smiling without any particular reason for doing so.

Vanessa beckoned them into her tidy home, seating them at a pleasantly situated table with cushioned seats warmed by the sun. To Milah’s surprise, she poured them an herbal tea that smelled of grass. Green tea steamed inside the dainty porcelain cup. She blew on it and took a polite sip, not much expecting to like it, considering the smell. But a hundred flavors exploded in her mouth like nothing she had ever tasted before.

“This is amazing!” 

“It’s an old recipe,” Vanessa told her, voice mesmerizing. She descended gently into her chair and Milah was struck at the oddity of a woman as unearthly as Vanessa engaging in mundane behavior like pouring tea. And sitting down. The witch’s eyes flicked up as the silly thought crossed her mind and her small smile reappeared. “Tell me how you met Captain Jones, favored of Ursula.”

The story spilled out of them both, Milah stumbling over the unflattering details of her abandonment of her son and loveless marriage. She cried again for the loss her selfishness had wrought, while Vanessa looked on with without judgment or pity. When the tale was told, Vanessa’s expression had changed not a jot, no judgment in her gaze.

The witch turned one pale hand over to lie on the table, then closed her fingers around her palm. When she opened her hand, a small, pink conch shell sat at the center of her palm. 

“Your past ever draws you back to shore, Milah, daughter of the Forest,” Vanessa said, her voice taking on an erie echo. “Wear this token around your neck and claim your sea legs. You shall sail the bottomless blue for all your days.”

Milah reached for the trinket, but Vanessa pulled it out of her grasp. “All of your days. You may not return to the Forest, else you be claimed by the fathoms below. Do you understand?”

She glanced at Killian, whose eyes were wide, but his face was unafraid. “It’s your choice. Always has been. Always will be.”

“What price do you ask of me, Lady Vanessa?”

Brown eyes flashed to a violent blue, the color of the ocean whipped to frenzy in a storm. The room grew dark, shadows exploding across every surface. The light from the windows was blotted out by inky darkness and Vanessa’s hair started to float eerily around her. 

“I will have a memory. A precious one. _This one_ ,” she hissed.

Milah was thrown back in time to the cottage she shared with Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire. She stood over the fire, coaxing a tough cut of meat into something approaching tenderness while Rumpel spun steadily. A pile of fine wool yarn grew beside him, and she smiled at the rhythmic rustle of the spinning. Little Bae gurgled in his cot, swaddled in the softest white blanket Rumpel’s craft could produce. 

“Stew is almost ready, my loves,” she crooned, hanging the ladle on the mantel. 

Leaning over Bae’s cot, she started slightly to feel Rumpel’s long fingers smoothing down her waist and his chin on her shoulder. They gazed at their boy, who smiled up at them with budding teeth. He had his father’s chocolate brown eyes and a wild mop of dark hair. Milah had been terrified when his soft, downy hair had fallen out when he was three months old, leaving him bald as an egg, but it grew back swiftly. 

She stroked his soft little cheek and felt her husband kiss the side of her neck. Leaning her head back into his chest, she let her weight fall against him. 

“Look what we made. He’s perfect.”

“I hope he ends up with your nose,” murmured Rumpel in her ear.

“Ah ah ah ah ah ah.” Bae was babbling and his parents smiled at him fondly. “Mama mama mama mama!”

Milah spun around to confirm, “Did you hear that?!” She scooped him out of his cot and spun him delightedly. “Rumpel, he said _mama_!”

“That he did.” Rumpelstiltskin enfolded them both in a hug and Bae continued to babble. “Well done. I’m sure you’ll be composing poetry in honor of the local beauties in no time at all.” 

“Rumpel!”

He laughed. “Like father, like son.”

“Mama!” shouted Bae.

The memory exploded into nothing. 

Milah came to herself collapsed on the floor. 

Killian was hovering fretfully, but Vanessa had not moved. 

“What was that?” she gasped.

“My price,” said the witch.

She closed her eyes. “Ask of me something else. I will make no new memories of my son. May I not keep the ones I have?” She knew the answer before she even finished speaking.

“I will pay,” Milah cried. “I will pay what you ask.”

***

There was no space for regret after that, no backward glances. They left Antilia less swiftly than Milah would have preferred, the crew slightly worse for wear after a night of debauchery. Even Killian’s Captain Voice couldn’t light a fire under them, but eventually the sails were rigged, the wind in their favor, and the Roger picked up speed.

They were fast, faster than the navy, faster than the stars, faster than the storms. They paid their dues to the fathoms below, a drab of rum o’er the side, while Milah fondled the conch hung round her neck. Finally comfortable aboard the deck, she gloried in the rolling gait of the seaworthy and started learning the ropes. The rigging slowly started to look less like an undistinguishable mass of chain, rope, and wood and more like the maze of intricate knots that she would someday master. 

The first time she shimmied up the crow’s nest, the crew gathered around beneath her in case she fell. She didn’t fall and she didn’t fear it. There was nothing on the ship or the seas that frightened her anymore. The call of the Forest frightened her, but ever did it wane as they drew away from the lands she knew. Killian was pushing the bounds of the known world, sailing off the maps and into history, and they were all behind him. 

“Sea legs” he called them, but really what the witch had given her was a life at sea, commanded by the sun and the moon and the stars, accompanied by dolphins, whales, and more exotic and interesting creatures.

One day, years after their visit with Vanessa, a blonde woman popped out of a wave.

“Hello!” she said brightly. 

Milah blinked at her.

“I hear you’re headed somewhere _new_!” 

“Uh,” Milah said eloquently. 

Killian must have caught sight of the shock of the blonde hair against uninterrupted blue and white and came bounding over.

“Arista! Darling!”

The woman in the water smiled hugely. “I said I’d find you, Killian Jones!”

“That you did, that you did. How are your sisters?”

“Well, they are well. So many to keep track of. And since they’re all off having adventures, I think it’s high time for my own. What say you?”

Killian’s grin was as broad as Milah had ever seen, “Oh, _yes_ , I say.”

“Very good. And who are you?” she asked Milah.

“Forgive my manners, milady,” Killian interjected. “This is my lady Milah.” 

“Your lady!” exclaimed Arista. “Oh, good for you. Congratulations Captain, Lady Milah.”

Milah recovered her manners and tried to curtsey and bow at the same time. She settled on a bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arista.” A red tail flicked up over the surface of the water and suddenly things made sense. Her manners evaporated again and she stared. _Mermaid_. It was like something out of a story. 

“Are krakens real, too?” she asked, unable to stopper the question for a more polite time, suddenly concerned about some of the more inexplicable bumps the ship had experienced. 

Arista laughed. “Her name is Hilde. She’s not nearly as grumpy as the stories make her out to be, she’s just so big she tends to bump into things when she goes south for the winters.”

“Really?”

Killian clapped her on the shoulder. “I’m going to show you the world, Milah. All the worlds. Starting with Geneva!”

“Geneva?” asked Arista. “Yes, I quite like the sound of that. Unusual choice, Captain.”

“When would you like to depart, Princess?” That wasn’t a pet name, Milah realized. Princess Arista, the mermaid.

“This time tomorrow. I’ll meet you there.” She pointed at a not-too-distant beach. It would be a short trip, a few hours at most. 

“Tomorrow, then! And the fee?”

“Bring me my trinket, Captain, and we’ll call it even,” the mermaid laughed, splashing them lightly as she swam away.

***

In addition to having tails, mermaids were apparently capable of crossing the realms. And towing a pirate ship with them.

Arista pulled the majestic brig along without any apparent effort. The air around the Roger started getting thicker, heavier, more opaque as they glided through unnaturally still waters. Small yellow globes of light appeared in the distance, flickering, unsure, unreal? They certainly made Milah uneasy. 

After finally adjusting the rolling gait necessary to remain upright, it was odd to no longer need to adjust for the movement of the sea. The rigging creaked, the sails fluttered in the tiny breeze made by Arista’s movement, but the ship was as quiet as the water. Her heart began to race for the first time in years. The kraken might just be misunderstood, but what other beasties lurked in the bottomless blue?

She went and found Killian at the helm, whistling quietly. “What is this mist?” she asked in an undertone, unwilling to pierce the silence.

“We’re in the space between worlds. A passage, a portal, a _maelstrom_ ,” he whispered. His knuckles were white.

The mist darkened until it was black as night and it was cold on Milah’s skin. She ducked into her cabin to grab her jacket and caught sight of something in the mirror while she was fastening it up.

Just there, in the corner of her eye. When she turned to face the mirror properly, it disappeared. She closed in on the mirror for a closer look.

“Mama,” said Baelfire. His voice was older and so quiet, but it could be no one else. She knew.

“Bae?” she whispered.

“Mama,” he said again.

“Bae!”

The ship _lurched_ as a ghostly white hand burst through the mirror. Milah screamed and a moment later Smee burst into her room. “Look away from the mirror, m’lady. Look away _now_!” He pulled her away from the mirror by her shoulders and thrust a large hand over her eyes.

“Keep ‘em closed,” Smee ordered, removing his hand. She obeyed and heard him frantically sifting through her things.

“They’re closed, Master Smee. I swear, they’re closed. What are you looking for?”

“Something to bind yer eyes.”

“Why? What is it?”

Something soft was tied firmly over her eyes. She tried to open them but could see nothing. He sighed gustily.

“Cap’n’s orders, Miss Milah. He said sommat about a witch and a forest and to get my bleedin’ arse down ‘ere and bind yer eyes.”

“Thank you, Smee,” came Killian’s voice. She couldn’t place him, disoriented behind the blindfold as she was. He walked across the room, the slight clanking of cutlass, buckles, and buttons much more noticeable as he knelt before her. Deprived of one sense, the others heightened until she was overly aware of his breath near her knees, the slight hitch in his breathing (from fear? exertion?), the calluses on his fingers as he took up her hand, and the soft whiskers of his beard as he kissed it. Smee shuffled out.

“Killian, what on earth?”

“Vanessa warned me this might happen,” he started slowly. “The ties that bind. They fray between the worlds, quite unpredictably, and even snap. Like this.” He pried open the fist her fingers had formed and she felt the conch shell drop into her palm. 

“What— how— that was tied with your strongest knot and magicked together by the witch herself!”

“It frayed, my love. The strength of your love for your boy and his for you, not to mention the power of your memories, your own soul-magic, it cut the knot and tried to draw you through. A portal within a portal.”

“That’s absurd!”

“I didn’t think you wanted to return… did I assume wrongly, Milah?”

“No!” she shouted, terrified. “No. I have every intention of remaining here, no matter what my unconscious mind intends.”

“Good. Good.” He cupped her cheek. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want to steal you either.”

She leaned forward and unerringly found his lips with her own. “You’ve stolen my heart, Killian Jones. I thank you for keeping it safe. For keeping me safe.”

He was quiet for a moment and she wished she could see his face.

“I always will,” he swore, voice wavering with intensity. 

“I love you,” she told him.

“And I you, my lady.”

***

The mirrors from the captain’s quarters were relocated to the area where the crew washed up and their beards started looking tidier almost immediately. Killian had wanted to chuck them over the side, but Milah had decried the wastefulness. She nurtured a small, secret hope that one day she would not need to be so careful when they traversed the maelstrom and could again enjoy the luxury of knowing when she actually had food in her teeth and when Pintel was poking fun at her.

Ragetti sprinted across the deck, arms and legs not quite synchronized and Milah suspected it was only a matter of time before he slipped on the recently swabbed desks and went sprawling. And, oh, yes, there he went. Pintel hauled him up by the armpits. 

“Land! Land, captain!”

Killian extracted a spyglass from his waistcoat and his smile was a little smug. Pulling Milah to him by the waist, they stood together at the bow of the ship and watched as the shores of Geneva approached. The docking was entirely perfect thanks to the serene waters and Arista’s assistance. It was by far the largest ship present and the dock was all but abandoned. 

Looking back over the lake, Milah realized it was very late in the day. And the season. The trees were bare of leaves, and while the water flowed freely, it looked decidedly slushy in places.

“Well, Captain? Have you my trinket?” called Arista, somewhere near the ship.

“You’ll be very cold if I give it to you there, Princess.” 

“A point well taken. Bring me aboard, then!”

Pintel and Ragetti lowered the rowboat into the water and Arista launched onto the boat. When they’d hoisted her up, Killian placed a simple pendant around the mermaid’s neck and her glittering red scales shifted into legs and a raggedy red skirt. 

“You’ve forty-eight hours until Vanessa’s trinket is used up and your fishy bits return, Princess. Do you wish accompaniment on your adventures?”

Arista eyed the crew, then her eyes flicked to Milah. “Lady Milah? Are you otherwise occupied this evening?”

What business a mermaid princess might have necessitating the presence of another woman, Milah couldn’t imagine, but female companionship was sorely lacking aboard the Jolly Roger. 

“I’m no lady, Princess Arista.”

“Oh, don’t retreat behind the title! Arista, please.”

“In that case, Arista, I would be delighted to accompany you ashore. But first, I think, shoes.”

The mermaid emerged from Milah’s chamber looking wonderfully disreputable in tight pants, tall boots, and a long leather coat. The ensemble was topped by an ostentatious hat. 

“This is an excellent look for you,” said Killian.

Arista caressed the feather with two fingers. “It might get a bit waterlogged.”

***

It took Milah a long time to put her finger on what was different about Geneva as they made their way through an expansive marketplace. She caressed a raw silk scarf that felt blue in her head but looked dark gray in her hands. Glancing back at Arista, who was dickering with a silver merchant, she realized that the only color she could see was Arista and herself.

“Do you like, lady? Only six francs,” tempted the scarf merchant, proffering the blue-gray silk she had been handling before. 

Distracted, she shook her head and approached Arista, still debating the relative value of the silver mirror she coveted. As Milah hovered, they settled on a price (a fair one, thought the former wife of a spinner who spent many afternoons at market).

“Do you notice anything… different about this place?” she asked.

“Quite odd, is it not? Being in a Land Without Color,” the mermaid replied mildly.

“I can still _feel_ what color things should be.”

“Drinks. I think drinks would help.”

“Agreed,” said Milah, with feeling.

They found a likely-looking pub and ducked in, Arista refusing to doff her extravagant hat. It was quiet yet, still early in the afternoon despite the growing darkness.

“Pair o’ toddies!” Milah called loudly. 

The bartender hastened to bring them their drinks. Arista sipped cautiously at hers. “It’s warm!”

“Thought you might be a bit cold here, seeing as it’s winter,” she explained.

“You thought correctly,” said the mermaid, wrapping long fingers around the steaming mug. “I only ever feel cold on land. It’s almost enough to put a girl off it. Almost.”

They drank their toddies in silence, taking in the clientele of the comfortable pub. There was a clinch of wizened old men sitting around a corner table, jabbing gnarled fingers at a map and arguing. A young man hovered at the bar, nose firmly stuck in a large tome. His dress was quite foreign, a long black robe hanging open over a leather jacket firmly clasped at the neck. His light curls (they felt blonde) were cropped close to his head and his eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration as he examined his book. He seemed to feel their attention and blushed (pink but not pink) as he met Arista’s eye. 

“Go talk to him,” Milah encouraged. “He’s pretty!”

“Later. Maybe. I wanted to talk with you about the witch. Miss Vanessa?”

A shiver that had nothing to do with the lingering cold ran up her spine. “What would you know of her?” 

“So many things. Where does she live? How does her magic work? At what price that trinket? And do you think it fair?” 

Milah sighed and looked back at the handsome young man at the bar sneaking looks at her companion. “I would rather not speak of her, Princess. It’s fresh in my mind.”

Arista leaned back in her chair, frowning. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. I apologize.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I adore Captain Jones. I do. But he’s been my intermediary for a very long time and I would negotiate my own adventures, thank you very much!”

“It’s his way of protecting you, I think. She’s not wicked, but she’s unyielding as stone. Her terms are harsh, her prices steep. I was prepared to pay whatever she asked, and yet…” Milah trailed off. The clank of glasses and the growing crowd of patrons intruded on the silence. “And yet. She still asked for something I was unprepared to give. And she knew it. That’s why she wanted it.”

“What price did the captain pay for my trinket? I would not have him harmed in any way.”

Milah remembered her anger, when she discovered Killian and Vanessa had bargained for further favors while she was unconscious on the witch’s floor. Killian refused to discuss the exchange, tugging on one ear in discomfort while she yelled. 

“I’m not sure. She called him ‘the favored of Ursula’ and was much… kinder to him, I suppose. I do not think her terms unfavorable.”

“Where does she live?”

“We visited her on an island called Antillia. Followed the beaten path right to her little house. It didn’t suit her in the slightest.”

Arista listened intently, chin resting in one hand. 

“Her magic permitted me this life, so of course I’m grateful. But the repercussions have been terrifying. On the one hand, you have to want it enough to be willing to give up something precious. On the other, you must walk away if the price is too high. How’s that for an impossible situation?”

Milah flashed back to the eerie white hand reaching through her mirror and a shudder ran through her.

“Impossible indeed. Another drink?”

“Yes, yes I think so.” She pulled the lapel of her coat closer. 

The mermaid flashed a charming smile. “I’ll fetch them. And speak with the young man at the bar. He looks like he could do with some interrupting.”

Nursing her drink, Milah watched Arista draw him into conversation. She dripped charisma, coaxing him beyond nervousness into a properly friendly chat. Eventually, he joined them at their table (“Victor Frankenstein, at your service,” he said, with a courtly bow.) and explained that the fascinating book was for his studies (for he was a student of medicine; healers in this land donned black robes). His interest was in a discipline called galvanism, which sounded quite violent to Milah, what with the lightning and the shocks, which were related to something called “electricity.” His experiments sounded akin to magic, like the alchemists who worked in the larger villages creating possets and occasionally blowing themselves up.

She mentioned this propensity for self-immolation to Victor and he laughed brightly. “We have safeguards, my lady, never fear. This jacket, for one, conducts the electricity away from my person to the ground, where it dissipates with harm to none. But that’s just a hobby. I spend my days treating the ill, not resurrecting the dead.”

He was politely curious about their histories, but gentlemanly enough not to pry when he received vague responses. Blushingly, he told them of a young woman named Elizabeth to whom he hoped to become engaged once his studies were complete. The match was one of their own devising, close childhood friendship blossoming into something more. His father was a minor noble, their family an offshoot of an offshoot of one of the ducal houses, and important with it. He didn’t particularly approve of his son’s academic pursuits and threatened to have him shipped off to the army once his certification was complete. A favored elder brother was making a name for himself as a talented commander, beloved of his men and superiors alike. Victor had no intention of joining him.

“My work could be the _end_ of war!” he exclaimed.

“But what is life, without death to give it meaning?” Milah asked, unnerved, leaning away from him.

“Something new,” Victor said, unholy passion lighting his eyes.

***

Milah left them to it, no longer feeling sociable after the frightening exchange with the future Doctor Frankenstein. No matter how capricious or cruel those who wielded magic in the Forest might be, they could not cross those sacred boundaries. Milah was not a woman of faith, believing in neither god nor goddess, depending on nothing but her hands, heart, and head, but she too held that sacred. Life, death, and love were untouchable by magic. You might murder someone or heal them from the brink of death (and such stories were cold comfort to the mothers of lost babes), but you could not create life from death and you could not create love where none existed. Inviolable, inexorable truth.

There was no magic here. Only medicine and electricity and Victor called it _science_. Maybe it was a better way of living, but it felt cold, bright, and unnatural to Milah and she was ready to go home. There may be wonders in this world, but she hadn’t seen them yet and she had no intention of staying around long enough to find them. Geneva was genteel and chilly in the early days of winter, with more glass than she’d ever seen in one place in her life. It was unnerving, having her reflection follow her everywhere. She couldn’t shake the terror of the mirror creature—was it trying to get in? Or was it trying to pull her out? The still, small voice inside her wondered if it had been Bae - future, present, past, dead, alive… a new thought chilled her… undead? Reaching for her from beyond. What kind of mother says no? What kind of mother… well, that line of questioning ended in madness.

She had an excellent sense of direction, improved further by Killian’s instruction in navigating by the stars. The stars overhead bore no resemblance to those she’d learned, but she made her way unerringly to the docks. Killian was, strangely, still aboard the ship and not out carousing with the crew. 

“This is not very adventurous, Master Pirate,” Milah called, feeling her slightly drunken melancholy evaporate at the sight of him. 

His head jerked up and she saw the whites of his eyes before they crinkled into his usual smile. 

“Charting the stars, lady mine,” he informed her, flourishing a long quill along his mustache. She laughed as he scrunched up his nose and sneezed.

She stomped aboard, careful not to fall off the gangplank and into the freezing waters of the lake (you only had to do that once before it became your trademark), and came to examine the star chart. The crew had hauled a small table atop the deck for just this purpose before taking off for new/better alcohol and accommodating company. The chart was nearing completion, moonrise having occurred very early due to the lateness of the season. 

“I would have brought you a book,” Milah complained, tracing patterns that might or might not have been “real” constellations.

“Naming them is much more entertaining. For instance, I’m calling this one ‘The Sickle,’” Killian said, tracing an arc in the eastern sky.

“Well that’s boring. How about ‘The Hook’?” Milah suggested.

“Yes, yes that’s much better, isn’t it? Very dramatic.” He smudged out his previous name. “Would you do the honors?”

Milah carefully penned in the letters. H-O-O-K. “You’ve lovely penmanship,” she said admiringly. 

“I prefer yours,” he informed her, kissing the side of her neck.

***

Geneva was better with Killian by her side. They spent the morning exploring the cold and lovely outskirts of the city, hilly and snow-dusted. They were enjoying a cup of a local drink called _chocolat chaud_ when Arista reappeared looking sleek, satisfied, and carrying a leather box.

Killian eyed the mermaid sidelong, one eyebrow high on his forehead. 

“The future Mrs. Frankenstein will be very pleased with the results of last evening, I assure you,” Arista told them. Milah wavered between amused and disapproving. “Also, look at this!”

She unlatched the box and extracted a water-filled glass jar with a strange metal apparatus at the top. 

“What is that?” Milah asked.

“Victor called it a _leyden jar_. It’s lightning in a bottle.”

“Lightning? Can I see?” asked Killian, wiggling his fingers.

Arista handed it over. Killian examined it from every angle before bringing it close to his nose and tapping on the glass.

“I don’t see anything,” he complained.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Arista said breezily. “I’ll show you later.”

Milah could tell he wanted to insist on being instructed in the intricacies of bottled lightning immediately, but was quashing the urge. Even Captain Jones was not so foolish as to alienate their ride home. 

“How shall you spend your last day on land?” asked Milah, hoping to forestall an argument that might make him forget that fact.

“My youngest sister is something of a seagull. She adores shiny things. I thought I might visit the market again and find something to suit her.”

“An admirable goal indeed,” said Killian. “And the lightning?”

“Collateral.” With that conversational dead end, the mermaid wandered off. 

“It’s for Vanessa,” Milah volunteered quietly. 

“She won’t like it.” A decisive shake of the head. “Only She controls the weather.”

“She?”

“The sea goddess, bless her. Vanessa is…” Killian was unwontedly hesitant. “A follower of Hers.”

Milah digested that bit of news for a moment. A cultist? Well, stranger things had happened. Pirates. Magic. Mermaids. Krakens. _Electricity_. The absurdity hit her and she laughed.

"Will wonders never cease?" she asked.

"I certainly hope not," said Killian, taking her arm.

***

A heavy waterglobe occupied a small corner of the kitchen shelf, periodically filling itself with snow. A swath of knitted wool surrounded the delicately carved base. Passing by on her way to brew tea for her guests (Flynn and Jerome, devious brothers, very useful), the witch peered into the globe, smiled at her reflection, and adjusted the wool around the engraving:

MAMA


End file.
